My most recent update in this blog was last October. I was supposed to post something right after that but I never got around to it. So I just wrote them all.
More than posting, I'm in the mood for hand-written letters and postcards these days. I even sent one to a boy group in Korea. I don't really care whether the letter was read. I just wanted to write.
I've transcribed the notes from my notebook to this blog. Today, I'm sending them out.
More than posting, I'm in the mood for hand-written letters and postcards these days. I even sent one to a boy group in Korea. I don't really care whether the letter was read. I just wanted to write.
I've transcribed the notes from my notebook to this blog. Today, I'm sending them out.
~*~
Today is the last week of September. The night breeze is starting to get chillier than usual. There isn't much rain but I see dewdrops everywhere. Dusty Manila is still dusty but after two years of living here, I've gotten used to it. What I can't get used to is the on-off feeling of wanting to live. There are times when I feel like I'm just drifting though my days. Like how it happened in the past month. Nothing significant transpired but I noticed that I've lost my will to continue. I still wake up everyday to go to work, I still attend classes, but somehow, they've become a chore. I don't even know at which part did it become difficult for me.
"Wherever you are right now, you're just taking a break. Don't give up."
That's a line from the song Tomorrow. After listening to it, I sat down and thought---for many nights---what is it that I really want? Is the academe truly my calling? Am I working for a dream I personally dreamed? Or am I merely holding on to a dying dream just because letting go would mean falling into nothingness?
When a person dreams big, one goes on a long difficult journey to reach it. At times, the journey can be too long and too difficult. The person gets tired and weary that her or his eyes close on her or him in exhaustion. The world blurs as she or he gasps for breath and then the great question comes in: "Is this dream worth it?" And, of course, depression follows for some.
When a person dreams big, one goes on a long difficult journey to reach it. At times, the journey can be too long and too difficult. The person gets tired and weary that her or his eyes close on her or him in exhaustion. The world blurs as she or he gasps for breath and then the great question comes in: "Is this dream worth it?" And, of course, depression follows for some.
But then, it also works that way when one attains her or his dream. You fall in a vortex of despair because there is nothing that you strive for anymore. You have achieved what you wanted to achieve and having that fire which drives you forward extinguished leaves you empty and wondering if all that you've sacrificed for the dream is really worth it.
Did I lose the will to go on because I felt that I've already conquered enough?
Ah, dreams. How can something so beautiful be so scary at the same time? It reminds me once more of a book I've read back when I was seventeen. The title is "Hope for the Flowers" by Trina Paulus. The book was a subtle jab on the flimsiness of success---how people fight with each other to get to the top only to realize that nothing is there after all.
~*~
Bohol, September 2016.
Hope and I traversed the outskirts of Bohol over a habal-habal ride for an hour. We left Tagbilaran at noon and we planned to see the rest of what Bohol prides itself before sundown.
The wind slapped my cheeks and the midday sun scorched the thin fabric on top of my head. Still, none of them matters as I listened to the album The Most Beautiful Moment In Life. Beneath the angry glare of the sun and the blunt pain crawling on my legs from the uncomfortable ride, I basked in the idea that what I was doing then was what the songs were all about. Youth.
What is youth? Is it an age or a state of mind? Can it be measured? What makes youth so distinct that it has became the most common topic of songs after love? Is it the recklessness? The seeming absence of responsibility? The strong surge of adrenaline running in our veins? Are those things exclusive to youth? Can adults not experience that?
I might be different thinking this way but I've always thought of youth and being adult as phases reflective of our age but not necessarily demanding of how we should act. I guess this idea came up to me because as a child, I've always been treated by my parents like an adult. I play and enjoy the usual thing children do. However, they have always been consistent in teaching me how to be responsible for my actions. I can commit mistakes, like any child would, but I am made to understand the consequences of my actions. I did not go through the child to adult standard process. I was a child and an adult at the same time. I was a child and adult the same time then and I'm a child and an adult at the same time now. Maybe it's the fluidity of the identity which is why I never saw one side as bad and the other as good. There was no dichotomy for me. I can enjoy both worlds.
Right now, I'm twenty seven. But I still listen to k-pop, watch over idols, play video games, travel, commit mistakes, stargaze, count raindrops, bury my toes in the sand, pillow fight, and just the other day, cried because my best friend got married and now I can't bring her anymore wherever I want to. At the same time, I work as a professional, I pay bills, I've invested in a business, and is doing my part in saving the world. I am am adult, age-wise, but I'm very much a child nonetheless.
They say the millennial generation is the generation which refuses to grow up. In a way, yes. But then again, growing up is a process we cannot fight forever. Perhaps, we refuse because we were raised believing in the dichotomy of "youth" and "adulthood". And this is where the beauty happens. As this generation refuses that definition, we do our best to reshape it. (Hence, the terms "adult-ing") I guess, I'm just happy of being born in this generation when non-conformists are not ostracized much. Imagine being born during the 17th century when society basically dictates everything. I'm pretty sure there are eccentrics and independent souls every generation but I sorta think we had it better now. There are more people who are vocal about not adhering to society's standards and I think that is beautiful.
~*~
I'm writing this while on a bus going to Cambodia. Today is the 14th of October, day one after the death of Thailand's King Bhumibol. I am using a page of my work notebook because I've ran out of notebooks specially designated to my random blurbs.
There is something about letters that I find pretty. I might not share the same sentiment as most people but I find it more endearing when I receive letters written from spaces of ordinary things. I guess, people would refer to them more as notes, but I digress.
Writing letters is like extracting a piece of your soul, trapping it in an object which would then act as the box that will carry it to the receiver. Most people allocate time and space in crafting letters. Others would carefully select the right paper, choose the perfect ink. They would find a comfortable place---a couch, a corner near a window, under a tree. They would sit there and let the words come to them.
On the other hand, there are those who write letters as spontaneously as a cold shower on a sunny afternoon. Like, when you walk on the streets of a strange city and you notice something that reminds you of a person. Minute and abrupt, it crosses your mind and you think the moment too awesome or the person too precious that you want to tell it to her or him right away. So you grab whatever it is that was within your reach---a table napkin, a torn page of a notebook, a spare receipt---just to have something that will help you entrap the moment. Perhaps to make it less simple, less banal, the writer will attach something: a dried petal, a blade of grass, a chipped bark of a tree. The note is sent and the receiver looks at it with all its erasures and patchy handwriting and, somehow, it gives a better image of how the person who sent it felt like when he or she wrote it.
There is something about letters that I find pretty. I might not share the same sentiment as most people but I find it more endearing when I receive letters written from spaces of ordinary things. I guess, people would refer to them more as notes, but I digress.
Writing letters is like extracting a piece of your soul, trapping it in an object which would then act as the box that will carry it to the receiver. Most people allocate time and space in crafting letters. Others would carefully select the right paper, choose the perfect ink. They would find a comfortable place---a couch, a corner near a window, under a tree. They would sit there and let the words come to them.
On the other hand, there are those who write letters as spontaneously as a cold shower on a sunny afternoon. Like, when you walk on the streets of a strange city and you notice something that reminds you of a person. Minute and abrupt, it crosses your mind and you think the moment too awesome or the person too precious that you want to tell it to her or him right away. So you grab whatever it is that was within your reach---a table napkin, a torn page of a notebook, a spare receipt---just to have something that will help you entrap the moment. Perhaps to make it less simple, less banal, the writer will attach something: a dried petal, a blade of grass, a chipped bark of a tree. The note is sent and the receiver looks at it with all its erasures and patchy handwriting and, somehow, it gives a better image of how the person who sent it felt like when he or she wrote it.
Maybe I'm just making excuses to justify my actions because I'm very much like the latter. I do not mind if I receive letters or notes that way too. In fact, I would be happier.
~*~
It's 5:40 am and I'm looking out the window of a sleeper train from Vientiane to Bangkok.
The sun is yet to shine. The train attendant woke me up around 4:40. They went around waking people up, shaking the curtains and squawking 'good morning, wake up'. It was not the deepest sleep I had but it was comfortable, nonetheless. Forever Young is playing right now. I sit down and listen to the song blaring from my earphones. I hear your voice, loud and full of conviction. Ah, you mint-haired boy who is the subject of my affection right now. We have the same personality type, you know? Up to the last bit of your persona. You are me. You are me and all that I wanted to be. We might have had different experiences which molded us to who we are now; but the way you think, the way you act, from your long days of lethargy to your sudden bursts of energy, you are me.
The skin on my hands are starting to show signs of aging. Here I am, few years to thirty and I still do not know what my passion is. I have traveled a quarter of the world, read libraries, spent days contemplating. People tell me that I'm successful, that I made good, that I was able to fend for myself (better than most) and that in itself is success. Despite these words, I feel that there is something missing. Passion---what do I really want to do? Passion.
Hearing you talk so passionately about music makes me envious. I don't find it amazing that you are able to do something that you really want. I find it amazing that you know what you really want.
Just go on, I guess. Seeing someone so similar to myself do well already makes me happy. That passion and dream that has been so elusive. I'm glad someone has that. Even though it's not me.
~*~
I'm now back in the Philippines. Nothing much has changed.
I've finally received the Cambodian postcard pictured above that I sent from Laos. I first saw this idea from Noli and I thought that perhaps, I should do it too. But then again, I'm not the most industrious person. I'm sure I'll probably get lazy. It was a struggle standing up form the bed and looking for the nearest Laotian post office to send this.
I've finally received the Cambodian postcard pictured above that I sent from Laos. I first saw this idea from Noli and I thought that perhaps, I should do it too. But then again, I'm not the most industrious person. I'm sure I'll probably get lazy. It was a struggle standing up form the bed and looking for the nearest Laotian post office to send this.
I'm still lethargic, still uninspired.
But somehow, someway, I'm moving forward. Still slow, but at least, it's faster than how I was a month ago. Realizations still arrive in bundles, the most important of which is the insight that life is a constant battle of finding meaning in our lives. Finding meanings, having dreams, looking for a goal. It sucks because it never ends. As soon as we get what we've dreamed of, we are back where we've started. But that's the key to living... to continue dreaming. That even if we've reached the dream, we should go on and dream again.
The magic ends when we wake up.
But somehow, someway, I'm moving forward. Still slow, but at least, it's faster than how I was a month ago. Realizations still arrive in bundles, the most important of which is the insight that life is a constant battle of finding meaning in our lives. Finding meanings, having dreams, looking for a goal. It sucks because it never ends. As soon as we get what we've dreamed of, we are back where we've started. But that's the key to living... to continue dreaming. That even if we've reached the dream, we should go on and dream again.
2 comments:
Your first story hits home gyud ba. My fire of life has been doused with the waves and waves and waves of depression and exhaustion, and I have nothing but twigs for kindling. I feel that this post was supposed to bring encouragement, positivity and even reflective thinking but, somehow, your experiences and realizations are slapping me in the face, telling me of things I want but haven't done, couldn't do and don't have the strength to do.
"But that's the key to living... to continue dreaming. That even if we've reached the dream, we should go on and dream again."
But I've lost the will to dream.
These were all written way back as a realization but I admit that half the reason why I posted this is where you at right now. The intention isn't really to bring encouragement and positivity but rather to let people know that if ever they are going through something like this right now, they are not alone. People have gone through this and they have made it through.
"Wherever you are right now, you're just taking a break. Don't give up."
Post a Comment